


Fly Away Home

by Interupptingmoose218



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anger, Anger Management, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Bed-Wetting, Birds, Books, Cars, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Comfort, Cuddles, Cute, Diapers, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Family, Family Fluff, Farm House, Fear, Fear of Death, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Garage, Gay Male Character, Gentle Sex, Headaches & Migraines, Home, Hugs, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Learning Disabilities, Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Morning Cuddles, Mountains, Paralysis, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Tony Stark, Returning Home, Schizophrenia, Sleepy Cuddles, Smut, Sweet, Tony Angst, Tony Being Tony, Tony Stark Cuddles, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, War, Wheelchairs, lots of Cuddles Okay?, montana, scared
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 18:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13393260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interupptingmoose218/pseuds/Interupptingmoose218
Summary: Tony Stark - A 46 year old, 2 year Army veteran struggling with crippling PTSD.Clint Barton - A 43 year old non-verbal severely autistic adult.Chris (Thor) Odinson - A 42 year old schizophrenic who believes himself to be a thousand year old God of Thunder.James "Bucky" Barnes - A 47 year old paralyzed man who struggles with multiple personality disorder.Bruce Banner - A 48 year old who struggles with a severe mood disorder.Steve Rogers - A 37 year old who suffers from a severe learning disability leaving him mostly non-verbal and unable to take proper care of himself.Phil Coulson & Natasha Rowana have taken on the job of caretakers for these individuals. Together, the 8 of them live in a large ranch style house in eastern Montana.One big happy family.





	1. Tony Stark - Fear

It was dark, so very dark. The kind of dark that smothers everything and leaves you floundering in the void, praying that you can find something to hold onto. The kind of darkness that hid under your childhood bed, terrorizing the young mind with visions of monsters and dragons. A fear of the dark takes over because there's nothing there. No lifeline to grab onto and pray to God that it won't let you go, there's no surface for you to break through and gulp deep lungfuls of precious, precious air. Only dark void. A kind of nothing that suffocates you and leaves you shaking, to afraid to open your eyes and face it.

But I do. 

I peel open my eyes and see white. A brilliant light that glows and scares away the darkness. It shrinks and disappears, running like the coward it is. 

I can't breathe. That's my first rational thought. I can't breathe, sweat pours down my face as my heart races. I'm hyperventilating but I can't stop, my hands clench into fists at my sides, I grimace when my bladder voids, my lap rushed with a wet warmth. 

1.2.3. I count. 3.2.1. Gives me something to concentrate on I suppose. 1.2.3. Helps me regulate my breathing. 3.2.1. Helps my heart slow. 1.2.3. Helps me calm down. 

I turn my head and wince, my head hurts. Like a million tiny little needles are pricking at it, trying to drill into my memories. Of course, that's how it always feels when I wake up from Them. Flashbacks from a time I can't care to remember. Years ago. A time I want to forget more than anything in the world but can't. 

My vision is blurry and I squint, looking to my right. A white blur forms into a wooden table carrying a lamp and a glass of water. I swallow. My throat's dry, it hurts. Everything hurts. 

I wince when I lift my arm and grope for the water, my shaking hand lifts it but it slips from my grasp and shatters against the floor with a crash. Some of the water splashes on my hand. 

To my right a small noise of surprise and the ruffle of cloth. I swing my head and see a form sitting up on the couch rubbing at its eyes with a small whimper. It's Steve, I've woken him from his slumber. 

I appreciate his concern but I can't help but feel a little confused, when he isn't outside with Clint he sticks to Bucky's side like a lost puppy. 

My mouth twitches into a slight kind of smile. I suppose we're all lost. Can't take care of ourselves or go anywhere else so we're holed up here like a bunch of prisoners. Some of us don't even realize we're stuck, just think we're home. I sigh. I love everyone here. But here isn't home.

You see, all of us here are unique, different in our own special ways. Phil & Natasha have adopted us into their weird little family. I suppose it's better than being stuck in an asylum. 

I need to get in the shower. My arms are lead when I go to lift my blanket. Frustrated I ball it up and throw it to the side, right into the puddle of water. I curse and Steve flinches. 

I look over at him, he's looking at me with wide, brown puppy eyes, his hands held tightly in front of him. He's wearing his favorite shirt; a pale blue t-shirt with a red and white plaid button down on top of it. Bucky got it for him, I suppose that's why he likes it. My expression softens when I see him, I guess I forgot he was in the room with me. 

"Thanks for staying with me, Stevie," I say putting on my most convincing smile. It must have worked because he bounces over to the bed. Always a ball of energy Steve Rogers. He stops with a start in front of the mattress, looking at me with questioning eyes. He knows Clint doesn't like it when people get too close too quickly, I guess he's being careful. It's cute.

"Can you help me up big guy?" I question, struggling to swing my legs over the side of my poor excuse for a bed. He nods, a quick, jerky bob of his head and thrusts his hand foreward for me to grasp. He looks at me as I take it and his face morphs into one of concern, he points to my soiled pants with a small whine. 

"I know Stevie. I'm sorry," I say with a sigh, and I mean it. I'm sorry I scared him with my episode, I don't remember what triggered it but I'm sure he was in here when it happened, I'm sorry he has to see me in this state, I'm sorry I've kept him from his outside time with his best friend.

I make my way into the bathroom slowly and squint at the digital clock perched on the countertop. 5:07 PM. I've got 23 minutes until dinner. I slide my shirt up over my shoulders and sigh, my fingers tracing my scar. 

The purple gash runs the length of my chest and wraps around my left side. It doesn't hurt anymore, just a dull throb when it pushed in just the right way. No, it doesn't hurt physically but it still hurts. It hurts every damn time I look in that mirror. 

I turn around and see Steve standing in the doorway fiddling with his fingers, his eyes cast at the floor. He looks at me, his mop of blonde hair flops in his face. Help? He signs to me, his eyes wide. I smile and shake my head gently. 

"Thank you Steve, but I think I'm okay bud. Why don't you go find Buck? He probably misses you" Steve beams at this, any mention of Bucky has him bouncing with joy. He nods and sprints from the room. I close the bathroom door with a chuckle, I hear the stairs creak as he takes them 2 at a time. 

The water feels nice, refreshing, a good reminder that I'm here. Not there. I'll never be there again. I sigh. Until tonight. Phil always tells me, you're never going to be there again. I shake my head. He doesn't understand. I go back there every night. Every. Goddamn. Night. I growl in frustration and rest my forehead against the tile, letting the hot water pour over me. It runs into my eyes and drips down my chin. 

I'm in the third floor bathroom, a small room that rests in between mine and Chris' room, and sits directly above our kitchen. If I listen, I can hear the hustle of dinner preparation. 

"Steve, no eating until you've washed your hands remember?" That's Phil. I smile. I can see Steve reaching around the shorter man, big hands reaching for the vegetable dish. It's Wednesday which means it's Phil's turn to cook, he always has a veggie dish. 

"Bucky, can you help me set the table?" That's Natasha. I can see her placing piles of dishes on Bucky's tray, him wheeling them into the dining room. He always struggles with setting the table but never complains and refuses any offered help. He's good like that, responsible. 

"Clint, honey, you're gonna have to move your books." That's Phil again, a hand on Clint's shoulder, his eyes kind. He points to a pile of books resting in the middle of the table. Books Phil has already asked Clint to take care of twice today. 

The waters grown cold and I have to get out. I sigh. I'm not hungry, I never am. I step out of the shower and shiver as I wrap a towel around myself. I brush my hair and lift my shirt. 

I startle when there are suddenly 4 loud knocks on the door. "Tony! I Require The Toilet!" I sigh. That's Chris. Big, loud, and frankly, annoying. 

"I'll be right out!" I promise, it's not like we don't live in a 4 bathroom house. I sigh again and pull my clothes on. 

"Hurry!" He hollers back, Chris always talks as if you were miles apart rather than several feet. He likes to make sure his presence is known.

I open the door and am about to step into the hallway when it's wrenched from my grasp and slammed. I roll my eyes with yet another sigh and make my way downstairs.

The air smells good. I think Phil is making Chicken Alfredo with Broccoli, Clint's favorite. The kitchen is crowded, everyone assigned their own special job. I smile. Dinners are never dull. There aren't many times when all 8 of us get to sit down together, dinners and Friday night movies are my favorite. 

"Tony!" Natasha greets me with a smile, holding a steaming pot of mashed potatoes. My stomach growls for the first time in what feels like years. 

Phil approaches me as Natasha walks off, his face etched with worry. "Steve said you were scared. Did you have another one?" I don't want to tell him I did, I want to say that it's none of his damn business. But I nod slowly because it is his business, he only wants them to stop. Just as much as I do. I don't tell him what triggered it because I don't remember but he doesn't ask only nods a little. "We're taking you back to Julia on Friday" He promises, resting an arm on my my should and guiding me to the table.  
Julia's my therapist, I talk to her once a month, but I suppose Phil's advancing this month's appointment. Just this once. 

I'm right about the Chicken Alfredo and it smells amazing. Beside it are a pot of mashed potatoes, garlic bread, a vegetable dish which Steve is already diving into. He waves at me, his left cheek bulging with a mouthful of celery. I chuckle as I sit down. Clint sits across from me, he's wearing his headphones, a telltale sign that he's having a hard day. 

I look up as Bruce Banner walks in sporting a purple polo shirt, he sits next to me. "It smells amazing!" He promises, beaming. 

"Thank you!" Phil calls from the other room. Steve squirms in his seat, he's excited for everyone to sit so he can eat. 

Bucky sits next to Steve and steals a carrot stick from his plate. Steve pouts at him his eyes watering. Bucky ruffles his hair with a chuckle. 

Chris makes his way down the stairs, his "cape" flapping behind him. I mutter under my breath. With Chris you never know. Some days he wakes up Chris, a man who works at the local General Store cleaning and restocking shelves, and sometimes he wakes up "Thor" a thousand year old God of Thunder from another planet constantly at war with his brother Loki. 

I guess tonight we're dining with a God. 

"Thor!" Natasha greets him. It's easiest to just humor him. 

"Greetings," Chris replies, sitting at the table across from Phil and serving himself a heaping pile of casserole.

The Alfredo is delicious, better than its been in a long time. The table is silent for a long while, the only noise being the gentle clink of silverware. 

After dinner comes clean up, everyone has a set job, mine is to dry dishes as Bruce washes them. I like working with Bruce because he's quiet. 

Steve and Clint finish their jobs quickly and race out the door, cheering with delight, desperate to enjoy the final hour of sunlight. I watch them through the kitchen window as they begin to wrestle in the long grass of the front yard. 

"Thanks for dinner," Bruce says with a smile as Phil packages the left-overs; Lunch tomorrow. Phil nods with a smile. 

"I'm serious Tony," He turns to me. "They're getting worse aren't they?" I gulp as I nod, squeezing the dish towel tightly in my fist.

"Steve was there when I woke up," I explain. "I don't know how long it lasted or what triggered it. I don't know if he was there the whole time. I scared him Phil. I can't do this anymore," I say, my breath hitching. I want to cry, I want to sob and scream and howl but I can't. It wouldn't be the first time they've seen my cry and I certainly wouldn't be the last but I can't. It's like I have nothing left. 

"Hey, hey, hey," Phil speaks softly, pulling me into a hug. I hate hugs, but this one pushes me over the edge and I begin to sob. Burying myself in Phil's chest, all the fear left over from this afternoon chocking me in a sob that struggles it's way out of my throat. "It's okay Tony," I feel his hand on my back as he tightens the hug.


	2. Clint Barton - Where’s Bucky?

Bright. 

Sunlight through the window. 

Warm.

I smile. It's morning. The sky is orange. I like orange. I look outside. Steve is by the stream. He's squatting. Poking the water. 

Lonely. 

Need to get up and play with Steve. Don't want Steve to be lonely. I stand. 

Soft. 

The rug in front of the bed feels nice on my bare feet. I wriggle my toes and smile. 

Purple. 

The rug is purple. I like purple. Purple is pretty. I open the door and look out into the hallway. 

Cold. 

It's early. The house is cold. I don't like it. Not at all. Where's Phil? Where's Natasha? I wrap my arms around myself and make my way downstairs, I'm clad only in my boxers. Phil says I need help getting dressed. I don't like it.

Warm. 

It's warm in the kitchen. Natasha is making breakfast; bacon, pancakes and eggs. I walk quietly. I sit at the bar behind her and open my book. 

"Morning Clint," She says without turning. How does she know it's me?  She turns and chuckles. "You need to get dressed big guy," She laughs. What's funny? 

Soft. 

The pages of my book are soft. I rub a corner of one in between my fingers. This book is about birds. 

Pretty.

I like the pictures. The birds are strong. Like Bucky. Where's Bucky? Bucky is strong. Like the birds. Where's Bucky? 

"Come on Clint. Let's get you dressed hmmm?" She's talking to me. She's looking at me. At my eyes. I turn my head down and squeeze my hands together. She walks down the hall. I'm supposed to follow her. I do. 

Dark. 

My room is dark. The lights are off. Natasha turns one on and goes to the drawer. She helps me dress. 

Warm. 

The clothes fit tightly. I like them. I'm safe. I'm warm now. I want to go back to my birds. I like my birds. Where's Bucky? 

Green. 

I look out the window. The field is green. Big. And pretty. Steve is gone. Left? Inside? Pond? Where's Steve? 

Loud. 

The stairs creak when I go down them. I laugh. The noise is funny. Stairs aren't supposed to talk. I laugh again. 

Voices. 

Phil is talking in the next room. With Bucky. Where's Bucky? I found Bucky. I want to see Bucky. 

Sad. 

Bucky's crying. I don't like crying. I don't like Bucky crying. 

Scared. 

Is Bucky hurt? I sway again. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Phil's sees me. Bucky sees me. Bucky's crying. 

Soft

The couch is soft. I sit beside Bucky. Don't cry. I'm scared. Is Bucky scared? Phil's talking. I don't hear him. Bucky. Only Bucky. Bucky's not crying. I lean my head in Bucky's shoulder. 

Cold. 

A metal arm wraps around me. Holds me tight. I like tight holds. I'm safe. Loose holds mean I'm not. I'm safe. Bucky keeps me safe. 

Tired. 

I yawn. Poor Bucky. Don't cry. My eyes close. I'm tired. Don't cry Bucky. I curl closer to Bucky. I fall asleep.


	3. Chris (Thor) Odinson - Friday

It's Friday. Movie night. It's my turn to pick and I have no idea what to watch. I'm crouched in front of the movie cabinet, thumbing through the DVDs, I've seen them all hundreds of times and they all bore me. Maybe I'll give my turn to Steve. 

I stand and stretch. Behind me there's a soft ruffle of clothing. Clint's curled on the couch huddled underneath a blanket sound asleep. His latest sensory toy; a small red, rubber toy car is held tightly in his arm, curled under his chin. He's snoring. 

Clint doesn't feel good. That's what Phil told me this morning. I believe him. Clint got sick on himself this morning, it was quite revolting. Phil says I should be gentle with Clint today, gentler than I normally am. 

My head hurts. Again. I shake my head and put my hands against the side of it, closing my eyes tight. It really hurts. It's Loki. Loki's using his black magic, I know he is. He'll do anything to get to the throne. But I can't let him. Loki can't be the next king of Asgard. 

I lift my head. Clint's whimpering, shaking underneath the blankets. I walk into the kitchen and sit at the breakfast bar. Natasha is washing the dishes from breakfast. 

"Hey Chris," She smiles a warm smile at me, I return it. My headaches gone. "How are you today?" She's already asked me that today, but she wants to know again so I tell her again. 

"Good," I reply bluntly, smiling once more. "Clint doesn't look very good," I admit, lowering my head. Is she mad because I didn't tell her sooner? 

"Thank you Chris," She places the dish aside and walks into the living room. I can hear her talking to Clint, shushing him gently. He's crying. I don't like it when he cries. I think I should go in an help but I don't know what I would do that Natasha isn't doing already. 

My head hurts. 

"Tony!" Someone is yelling upstairs, I think it's Bruce. He always yells. "Where the hell did you put my phone! I know you had it! I saw you with it this morning!" We're not supposed to swear, but when Bruce gets angry he breaks all the rules. Sometimes those aren't the only thing he breaks. 

"It's on your nightstand! That's where I put it when I was done!" Tony yells back, I think he's downstairs. 

"It's not there! Why did you have my phone?!" Bruce is getting angrier. I should find Steve. Steve gets scared when Bruce gets mad. 

"Because Steve broke mine and I needed to make a call!" Tony's getting mad too. I don't want them to fight.

"Don't touch it again!" Bruce cries. I don't think they're going to fight. Bruce is ending it now. 

"It's not my fault you can't keep track of your shit," Tony mumbles under his breath as he walks into the kitchen and refills his coffee cup. 

"That's not nice," I promise him, nodding my head as I say it. Tony whirls, I don't think he knew I was hear. He sighs. 

"I know, I know," He takes a sip of coffee and leans on the counter across from me. He smells of cigarettes. We aren't allowed cigarettes. "How's Clint?" He asks, his eyes stray to the living room. 

"Sick," I say. Tony shakes his head with another sigh. Tony likes to sigh. 

"Poor guy," He says. Tony's eyes flicker. Like he's distracted. He can't focus on one thing for more than a few seconds. I look down and notice that he's drumming his fingers against the side of his coffee mug. I wonder if he's nervous. 

"Are you nervous?" I ask. I didn't mean too, it just kind of slipped out. Tony looks surprised. 

"No. Why?" He chuckles, a light-hearted laugh. I don't believe him. 

"Your fingers," I point. "They won't stand still," 

He shrugs with another chuckle. "Nervous tick I suppose," 

"So you are nervous," I say, I raise my eyebrows. 

"No. I-I never said I was," Tony hesitates for just a moment and I wonder what he's so afraid of. 

"You just said it was a nervous tick. And you're doing it now, so you must be nervous," I point out, resting my hands on the table. Tony is flustered, he shoves one hand in his pocket and picks up his coffee with the other. 

"It doesn't matter," He says and walks away. I sigh. It does matter. Because I care about Tony and I want him to be okay, but I know better than to push him when he doesn't want to talk about something. 

Tony's gone upstairs, I go into the living room. Natasha is sitting next to Clint, she wants to take him into her arms and hold him but he wouldn't like that. Clint is chewing on the small red car in his hand, his knuckles are white, he's making a small noise under his breath. He's close to a meltdown. 

I take a step foreward, I want to help Clint, when his body lurches foreward and he spews vomit onto his lap. 

"Oh Clint," Natasha says, her face creases in worry. He gags once more and splashes more vile liquid onto his blanket. 

It smells terrible and I take a step back afraid that I will be sick. I shake my head and leave the room, there's nothing I can do here. When I turn I see Steve poking his head around the corner, his eyes wide with childlike innocence as he looks at his best friend. 

"Steve." I take a step toward him. He shies away from me. He's scared. "Clint is going to be okay," I promise, Steve doesn't meet my eyes. 

Hurt he signs to me slowly. It's a question. I nod. 

"Clint's stomach is hurt. But he'll be okay. It'll heal" Steve does nothing, but his eyes are wide, he nods, a jerky bob of his head and is gone. Running back upstairs to the safety of his bedroom. 

I look down at the watch on my wrist. 10:34. Today's the day that we're supposed to go grocery shopping. We always go on Fridays. All 8 of us pile into 2 little cars and rumble down into town. I like it. It gives me a chance k get out of the house. It occurs to me that we might not be able to do because of Clint. Maybe Phil or Natasha will be willing to stay behind. Bucky can drive. He's the only one of us who still has it has ever had a driver's license. 

I find Phil outside, raking up the first of the autumnal leaves. 

"Hey Chris," He pauses when he sees me and leans in his rake. "What's eating you?" It's a little saying but it always makes me smile when he says it. I tell him. 

"Clint's sick." I say, looking up at the house. Steve is peaking through the curtains his face lit up with curiosity. He'll be down here to join us in a few minutes. 

"I know," Phil sighs. I think he feels the same way I do. He wants to help but there's nothing he can do. 

"We need to go shopping today," I say, I fiddle with my hands afraid he'll think I'm acting selfish. 

"I know Chris. And we will. Clint will be okay to come for a little bit, we need to get him his medicine anyway," Phil smiles at me, his eyes are warm, I feel safe whenever he smiles at me. Like a kid again. I feel protected. It's a nice feeling. 

I nod. It's cold. I want to retreat back to the house, my head is hurting again. Phil told me to tell him whenever that happens but I don't want to bother him right now. He's busy with the leaves. 

I go back inside and up to my room. I close the door and take a deep breath. My head is pounding, I can't see straight, my vision is hazy. I collapse onto my bed and wince. The voices are coming back. Loki. I hate him. He's my brother but I hate him. My headache is passing but I'm short of breath and I realize I'm scared. Terrified. Though of what, I'm not sure. 

I curl under the blankets. The blankets that smell of coffee and cinnamon, and tell myself that I'm safe. That I'm home. That Loki can't get to me because he's locked up. I locked him up years ago and he can't hurt me. The blanket is warm, the pillow is soft. Tony's in his room next to mine playing his guitar, the music is nice and I close my eyes with a sigh.


	4. Bucky Barnes - Soldier

Steve was scared, I didn't know why but I suspected that it had something to do with Clint. Just a few minutes earlier he had knocked on my bedroom door, his eyes wide with tears, his head down, his hands unable to remain at his side.

Now he was curled under my covers trying his damnedest not to cry. Steve was a crier when he was scared, a trait Bruce picked on whenever he was feeling his angriest. Steve hated it I think, because whenever he got scared he came to me because I was the only one who let him cry without comment. 

Steve's brave, a little trooper, but even soldiers get scared, especially when their best friend is hurt and they don't understand why. 

I lift the blanket and peek inside, Steve likes my blankets, especially the blue and red one. 

"Hey Stevie," He speak slowly, putting a lot of enunciation on each word. "What's the matter hmmm?" I pushed gently. Steve looked up at me, his golden retriever eyes watering, his bottom lip quivering. A little trooper. 

"It's okay to cry Steve. Every soldier cries," I said. Steve shook his head with a small whimper, and slid closer to my backboard. 

With a grunt I hauled myself up onto the bed, lifting my useless legs up with me and slid next to Steve. I wrapped my arms around the blonde and pulled him against me, this again was something Bruce would comment on, but there was nothing intimate about it, just a friend comforting an injured brother in the battlefield. 

"Clint's gonna be okay bud," I promised. This seemed to be the final push, proving my theory to be correct, Steve howled and launched himself at me, holding tight. "I promise Stevie. It's just a little bug," I said. 

Clint and Steve were inseparable, it seemed they understood each other in a way no one else could. Clint didn't know American Sign Language and couldn't understand Steve's hand gestures but the two didn't care. They could play for hours without a single noise passing between them. Neither judged the other, everything they did was simply accepted, no explanation needed. They understood each other, at the end of the day it was as simple as that. And I suppose, that's all they needed. 

Everyone loved Steve, he was a like a little puppy, impossible not to fall in love with. But no one loves Steve the way Clint did. Barton looked up at Steve as if he were a God. When Clint was suffering a meltdown Steve was the only one allowed to touch him, the only one able to calm him. 

Clint and Steve spoke a silent language only they could understand, and at the end of the day, they shared a bond others admired. 

Steve was a crier, but his tears never lasted long, he was too afraid that they would get commented on if he kept them up for too long. Only a few minutes had passed until he relaxed in my hold and wiped at his eyes with a sniff. 

"Do you want me to make you your Sandwich?" I asked, he nodded with a smile, squirming in anticipation in my arms. I chuckled. "Okay, you got to get off me then goofball," He nodded and wriggled off my lap and onto the floor. 

Steve's Sandwich was nothing more than a grilled turkey and cheese accompanied by tomatoe and bacon on rye bread, but he, along with everybody else in the household claimed "it's the best fu***ng thing I've ever tasted" (Tony Stark) Thor even claimed it to be "better than any other simple mortal food" and I thought that was a pretty good compliment coming from the Prince of another planet.

By the time I get myself back into my wheelchair Steve's gone, presumably to the kitchen. I chuckle to myself and push myself down the hallway, past the living room, and into the kitchen. Steve is waiting, dancing back and forth on his feet. I can't help but notice that his eyes keep glancing at the living room door. 

"He's okay Steve," I promise as I pass him. As I was passing I noticed that Clint had fallen asleep again, in his hand was a small red car. A little rubber toy he'd found in the store last week and had been using as a kind of sensory toy, it was soft and squishy and he liked the noise it made when he squeezed it. 

As I buttered the pan and gathered the ingredients I heard a gentle melody coming from upstairs in Tony's bedroom. He was playing the guitar again. Tony Stark was one of the most talented guitar players I've ever meet, which isn't saying much because I only know like 15 people but still, you get the point. I've heard him sing too, when he thought no one was around and it was beautiful. He's self taught, but he's better than those you hear on the radio. I could sit and listen to him play for hours, his music puts me in a place I can't describe. It sends me somewhere safe, away from the fear, and away from the stress. It's calming, and I've fallen in love with it.

Today he was doing a cover of Johnny Cash's song: Hurt, one of his favorites. 

I flipped Steve's sandwich and placed it on a plate, cutting it in half for him before handing it to him. He took it with a smile and sat down at the table, diving into it and humming happily to himself. 

I sighed, resting my head on my folded hands resting on the table, closing my eyes and listening to Tony's music. My mind begins to stray and I find myself thinking about why I'm here. 

There are several answers to that question but I suppose I'll start with the worst one; I'm dangerous. My therapist tells me I suffer from multiple personality disorder, but to me it just feels like blackouts. Minutes, hours, sometimes even days are gone, memories stuck in the back of my brain I can never fish out. Phil Coulson tells me that during those periods I change, I guess it's like I'm a whole other person. But I don't know. I don't remember and I never will and it infuriates me. Giant black holes in my memory, periods of my life I'm never going to get back. 

Steve's looking at me when I lift my head, his eyes wide and curious. I force a smile at him, wondering how many times I've scared him in the past. Terrified him to the point of tears with no one to go to. It makes me sick. How many times have I tried to hurt them? Have I ever succeeded? Is Clint scared of me? Does he try to avoid me? Am I really stable? Is it really safe for me to be here? Questions with no answers, questions with answers that I don't know and probably won't. Phil doesn't tell me what my other personality is like but that alone tells me it's nothing good. I don't know what triggers it. Have I ever changed in public? In the store? How many times have I embarrassed Phil or Natasha? How many times have I terrified Clint even more than he already is in public places? 

I feel scared. 

I don't know why. 

It takes me a while to realize that I'm scared of myself.


	5. Bruce Banner - Deep Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note that in real life I do in fact work in a home much like the fictional one in this story. Me and my girlfriend's brother work there together. While we mostly work with severely autistic individuals I will try to make the other characters as realistic as I can. I will try to cover everything, not just the good days. For example; many of the autistic individuals I work with are unable to bathe themselves, or control their bathroom visits. Many of them have a hard time conveying/controlling their emotions and they will cry if something is distressing them, much like a small child. Again, I do not want this story to be offensive to anyone, but I will make it as realistic as possible. Also, please note that all mental disabilities vary in severity. (I.e - schizophrenia, PTSD, or personality disorders)

Saturday. That's what my calendar said. That means we were supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday. But we didn't. Because someone couldn't suck it up enough to leave the house for 2 hours. I clench my teeth as I slam the empty cupboard. 

That means we'll have to go some other day and mess up the routine. I happen to like our routine. I swear as I open the fridge. Someone's put an empty container of milk back in the fridge. I know who it was without even thinking about it; Tony Stark. 

Professional asshole, all around idiot and an entitled cocky, hot-headed Dick. Course, he's only entitled because everyone here's too afraid of the tantrum he'll throw if he doesn't get his way. 

I take a deep breath. Phil says that I'm going to far when I start bad-mouthing my brothers. I can't help my bad moods but sometimes they go to far. When that happens I break things, I yell, I can't stop. I turn into a raging beast that needs to be tamed. 

I can't help it. 

But I can stop it before it gets to that point. Phil told me to count by counting's stupid and it doesn't help so I breathe. I spell. Long words. Elements. Chemistry; science. It helps me calm down. O. X. Y. G. E. N. Breathe in. S. T. R. O. N. T. I. U. M. Breathe out. R. A. D. I. U. M. Breathe in. C. O. B. A. L. T. Breathe out. It's stupid, it's lame, it's nerdy. I know that. But it helps. Im calmer now and I've only done 4. I save the longer ones for when I'm really angry. 

I've spelled the entire periodic table before. I don't like it when I get that far because then it's hard to focus. It's like someone else is in control of me. It scares me. 

I throw out the milk carton and go into the living room. I sit on the couch and close me eyes, spelling out one more for good measure. A. R. S. E. N. I. C. Breathe in, breathe out. Yeah. I'm okay now. 

I turn on the Tv and settle into the chair. It's on cartoons. I bet I can guess who was watching the tv last. I smile at the thought of Clint and Steve huddled together under a blanket in front of the tv last night, completely engrossed in the animated characters. 

I change the channel to an action movie and settle into the chair with a small little yawn. It's still early. Everyone's asleep expect for Chris, I can hear him moving around in his room. I smile and yawn as I watch the movie. It's one I've already seen but it interests me anyway.


	6. Steve Rogers - Brother

Clint doesn't want to play. Clint was having a bad day. I'm scared. Is Clint dying? 

Where's Bucky? Bucky's smart. Bucky will know what to do. Bucky always knows what to do. 

It's dark outside. The moon is rising. No more outside time until tomorrow. Maybe Clint will be better tomorrow. 

It's dark. That means it's almost dinner. I like dinner. I'm hungry. How long until dinner? I should find Phil. Or Natasha. They cook dinner. I'm hungry. 

Natasha is in the kitchen. Natasha's cooking. What's for dinner? Steak is for dinner. I smile. Steak is good. Natasha is cooking it. It will be extra good. She's a good cook. I show her I want to know where Clint is. She tells me the living room. I nod. She's smart. She's always right. 

She's right. Clint's in the living room. He's lying on the couch, Phil is changing him. I should look away. This is private time. I frown. Clint is never changed in the living room. But somethings wrong. Clint's having a bad day. Clint can't leave the living room. Is Clint dying? Bucky said he wasn't. He isn't. Bucky is never wrong. Never. 

Clint looks at me. He's been crying. I'm scared. Clint doesn't like to be touched but I wanted to hug him. Clint looks scared. Is Clint dying? A small noise escapes my throat and I jump when Phil looks up.

"What's the matter Steve?" He's worried. I show him I'm scared. 

"It's okay," He promises. I believe him. "Clint's fine, he's just a little sick is all" 

*****

It's after dinner. Almost bedtime. I'm in my room. I'm drawing. I like to draw, it calms me down and gives me something to focus on. Today I'm drawing Tony. He was scared the other day. I hope he's happy now. I don't like it when people are scared. 

Someone knocks on the door. I open it. It's Clint. He's wearing pajamas, and holding his car. He looks down. I smile at Clint. He must be better. Phil was right. Phil's always right. 

Clint steps into the room and begins to sway slowly back and forth where he stands. He chews on the car and whines. He's cold. I can tell. I point to the bed with a smile. The bed has blankets. Blankets are warm. Clint yawns and curls up under my blankets and closes his eyes. 

I frown. I love Clint. I want Clint to be happy. I want Clint to be warm. But I don't want Clint to sleep in my bed. Clint goes to the bathroom in his sleep. It's gross. He can't help it. But it's gross. 

Clint's Sleeping. He looks happy. He looks comfortable and warm. I don't want to move him. I let him sleep in my bed. 

I'm tired. I yawn and get into bed beside Clint. It's not bedtime yet. I shouldn't fall asleep. I should stay up so Natasha can help me get ready for bed. But I'm tired, and warm. 

Clint rolls over in his sleep. I sigh as I squirm to get comfortable. I hope Clint's wearing his diaper. I don't want gross sheets. 

I hug Clint. Clint goes to the bathroom in his sleep and it's gross. But he can't help it. So that's okay. Clint's nice. He's smart. He's fun to play with. I like Clint. Clint is my brother. I love my brother.


	7. Tony Stark - Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really the one that gets the plot going. The first couple chapters I was really using as a kind of background to introduce the characters.

The night was cool. The trees shivered as a breeze shook their branches and drifted through the valley like a silent wave. The autumn air is soft, calming and peaceful; a time when your mind is supposed to be clear. 

A leaf drifted past my window. A golden leaf twirling, caught in an invisible breeze. It spun, caught in its own little dance against a force stronger than it. I wanted to reach out and grab it, and hold it against my aching chest and smooth all out it's creases. But something told me not to, for that little yellow leaf was a corpse of something what was once summer. 

The night was clear, the near full moon cast a gentle white light over the lawn. It swung low in the heavens; a diffuse ocean high above. 

The sun has rest, the moon has taken its place. It is now night; sweet-smelling rain-washed darkness has enveloped the Montana valley. The night is mine. The darkness seeps into my bedroom like an old friend. It hides my flaws, my imperfections and scars from the world. 

Darkness is black. It absorbs everything. The darkness that enveloped me was not black; for this black was not a color but a void. Nothing. Black is the absence of color yet it holds secrets and fear we can not even imagine. Black is darkness and darkness is fear.

Fear is an illusion. Fear is smart. It hunts. Stalks the things you love the most and latches on, it taunts you, making you terrified that you'll lose yourself trying to fight it. It's smart because it waits, sneaks up on you when you least expect it. In that state of fear; clutching at your chest gasping for breath that won't come, your easy prey to loneliness, despair, melancholy and sorrow. 

Lauren K. Hamilton; a writer and artist once said "There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds." I suppose I've never found something that better sums up my fear than that sentence. 

People listen but they don't always understand, they can't relate and they can't empathize with me no matter how hard they try. Because of this I've turned to books. Portals to another world, keys to other peoples lives. People struggling with me. People I can relate to and empathize with. People I understand. 

I lift my head and look out my window at the sky. 

A wind whispered through the trees, a cold kiss on the green blanket. Tonight would bring frost. 

I grab my folded blanket from the floor by my bed and push open the window. It creaks in objection as it swings open, I'm greeted by a puff of cool night air.  It's rained this afternoon and the air is thick with the gentle scent of it. I take a deep breath. It smells sweet, of crisp clear air rolling down from the nearby mountains. 

I swing myself out the window and scurry up to the roof, careful to remain quiet. The shingles are damp under my socks as I lay out the blanket. 

I look up at the stars. A friend told me once that stars are like fireflies only they burn a little bit brighter. They dot the milky black landscape above me, breaking up the darkness with white light. I reach my hand up as if I can pluck a star from the heavens and put it in a firefly jar. 

I recognized the tattered border of the Milky Way, with Orion and Gemini shining bright against the blackness. The Pole star was overhead burning brightly, pointing the way. The Great Bear hung over the horizon keeping watch. 

Beyond the guardians lay a great expanse of stars I've never seen before. A whole other world full of things I can't even imagine. A whole other darkness broken up by brilliant lights no ones ever witnessed. 

I trace the line of Libra with my finger. Libra's the only zodiac constellation not representing an animal or character. I suppose that makes Libra unique. My finger makes a triangle in the sky, and trails down, forming the scales. Part of me wonders what they balance. Good and Evil? Light and Darkness? Perhaps nothing at all. I wonder if Libra struggles to keep the scales balanced. Does one outweigh the other? 

It feels like I'm constantly balancing those scales. Always at the tipping point. Fear and courage. Light and dark. White and black. Polar opposites. One always outweighs the other. Sometimes it's hard to make sure it's the courage.

I suddenly feel very small as I take in the trillions of stars blinking high above me. The light of those diamonds has ventured across time and space, past planets and moons, through gas nebulas and hidden galaxies, biding it's time until eventually it reaches my eyes. I am small. Nothing more than a dot, a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. Long after I die and rest the Earth will continue to spin. There will be people like me who look up at the stars and marvel at their beauty. I will be a memory quickly forgotten. But I suppose that's okay. Because I've seen the stars, I've seen the light that took billions of years to get here for me. I'm not alone because the stars will protect me. They'll always be there to blink and drift, breaking up the darkness and enveloping me in their soft, warm light.

I take the cigarette package out of my pocket and light one. I inhaled deeply and let it out, watching as the smoke twirled and disappeared into the sky. I know I'm not supposed to smoke: all that bad for your health shit. But they help me calm, and I suppose severe panic attacks are bad for your health to. 

I take another deep drag and think about my attacks. The worst one I've had in a long while was a couple months ago. We were all eating dinner and laughing, normal stuff, even Clint was smiling. I don't remember much, just that one moment I was enjoying my pork chop the next I was hiding from the Taliban in a hollowed out building. 

Baxter's injured. He's howling as James wraps a tourniquet around his gushing leg. Bursts of machine gun fire. A distant mortar. Shouts in Dari echo around us. Davis is beside me, panting and sweating, blood drips in his eyes from a gash on his forehead. He's lying on his stomach his eye on his scope. His finger tightens. An enemy falls. 

I take a deep breath and fire. I hit. The soldier falls. 

Davis screams as he takes a bullet to the arm. 

I'm the only one left then. My squad is injured or dead. I'm surrounded by bullets, explosions and screaming crying men. 

Alone. 

I open my eyes and I'm curled on the floor under the table covered in my own piss and vomit. Steve's crying. Natasha's rubbing my back. Phil's talking to me but I can't hear him over my gasping breath and pounding heart. 

I learned later that the neighbors were shooting off fireworks in an early Fourth celebration. 

My fingers trail down to my pocket and I take out my phone in shaking hands. I open my messages and type out a hasty I need to see you. Please. I hit send. 

In high school I was a playboy. A whore. That was my nickname; Genius playboy. Course. I wasn't a genius, only claimed to be because I placed in all the advanced classes. I had girlfriends, lots of them. I lost my virginity at the age of 15, under the bleachers during second period on a Wednesday in March. 

I didn't like it. I never told her that. Never told anyone that. But I didn't like it. Convinced myself that I'd never have sex again. I just didn't feel anything, like I was a robot or something. Maybe that was the reason I had so many girlfriends. Try it enough times and it just might work out. 

It wasn't until my tour in Afghanistan that I found my problem. Girls just didn't do it for me. 

I wasn't the only one in my squad who felt that way either. Baxter Thaur; an American who had grown up in Michigan and moved to Oklahoma at the age of 7 after his father was offered a job as a professor at the local university. When he was 18 he came out to his parents and they kicked him out. A month later he was training in Boot Camp. 

He was a year younger than me and of higher command but it didn't matter. We never did it very often and when we did it was quiet and gentle. When we were hiding out from the Taliban, stuck in a rocky cave with a grumpy captain for a week Baxter and I had huddled in the back and did it like rabbits. 

It wasn't romantic and it wasn't long term. We both knew that. It was purely relief. Stress induced panic attacks were soothed almost immediately by the other's teasing touch.  

Thaur was killed in action during the attack on Zibak district in 2006. 

The years after I came back I had never wanted a boyfriend. I wasn't interested in anyone and was convinced no one else would even notice if I was. 

Sebastian Young worked at the garage down the road. I met him when I dropped my car off for an oil change. He was there when I picked it up the next day. 

He was tall, nearly 6'2, ginger haired and green eyed.  He always wore a backwards baseball cap, always sporting the blue mascot for the Miami Dolphins. Forget the fact that we lived in Montana. That didn't matter. The dolphins were the best. In his humble opinion at least. 

It started with a conversation. I lived with someone who loved sports. (I'll give you three guesses who it is. If you guessed Phil than congratulations! You're correct!) Sebastian had beamed at me and launched into a conversation about the Dolphins and their chances of making it into the playoffs. He worked in a garage and I supposed a lot of people there knew more about and preferred automobiles to sports teams. 

The second time I saw him it was summer; a sweltering 105 degree day which was beyond rare where we lived. He was working with the garage door open, his shirt was off, bent over shoulder deep in the engine compartment. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel my heartbeat just a little bit faster at the sight of him. He's humming along to a song playing on a radio perched on the toolbox next to his work station. 

I was here to pick up Phil's Subaru which had needed its brake pads replaced. 

What started as carefree meetings at the garage morphed into lunch at the local diner and then into trips downtown laughing and walking hand in hand down the crowded sidewalks drinking coffees from the local café and just enjoying the other's presence. 

Our first time was 4 months after I met him. We were lying on an old hand knitted blanket by the creek that flowed through his backyard. It was October 14th, the evening of the 15th, the air was cool with the breeze gentle. Fireflies danced above us in the navy sky. It was then that I told him everything, about my tour, my squad, my nightmares, my family, about Baxter. My story ended in tears, afraid he would leave me because of the coward I am. 

Instead he had leaned in and pressed his lips against mine gently. It wasn't rough and it wasn't fast. It wasn't lust that guided our bodies down by the water that night. I'm not sure it was love either. Whatever it was, was soft and gentle, quiet and passionate. I'd never felt anything like it before. 

It was secret. I hated that fact and Sebastian hated it even more. Our first ever fight was over that fact. He claimed that I must have been too ashamed of him to share our relationship with my family. That wasn't it I had yelled. That was never it. It was me, it had always been me. I hated myself, and the fact that I was gay just made it worse. 

But here I was seated alone on my roof during a cold autumn night begging for my boyfriend to come and save me from myself. 

My phone dinged in my hand. Of course Tones. I'll be over in 10 minutes <3\. I smiled at the message. Tones. That was his cute little nickname for me, I pretended to hate it but my heart soared whenever he said it. 

I layer my head back against the cool shingles, closing my eyes and waiting for the gentle rumble of tyres on gravel. 

10 minutes later I opened my eyes to distant round headlights bouncing their way up the long driveway. I smiled and swung myself off the roof landing on the ground with a quiet thud. I jogged over to the truck which Sebastian was climbing out of. 

He pulled me into a hug and I released a happy sigh. Everything was going to be okay now. I took a deep breath, he smelled of cinnamon and a small hint of gasoline. A scent purely Sebastian. He smiled and ran his fingers through my hair gently. 

"Everything alright Tones? It's 1:30 in the you scared me," He says. I didn't mean to. I just needed to see him. So I nod. I back up and look at him. Really look at him. My heart swells when I make a realization. Something I told myself would never happen, something I'd keep from happening at all costs. 

"Seb?" I say, looking into his warm, gentle eyes. "I love you," My heart pounds to say it, it feels like I'm floating. It's amazing the impact three little words can have. 

His whole face lights up, his stupid crooked grin I love so much comes back, his eyes crinkle at the sides, his hands move to my back and pull me closer. 

"I know," He says quietly. "I love you to,"


	8. Clint Barton - Overwhelmed

Warm 

The blankets are warm. I'm comfortable next to Steve. Steve's asleep. 

Loud. 

Steve's snoring. It's loud. It woke me up. I head butt him gently. Steve grumbles. 

Itchy 

My legs are itchy. It's morning. My legs itch. They hurt. Get Phil. Or Natasha. They'll fix it. 

Blue 

Steve's blanket is blue. I like blue. I squeeze it. It's soft. I like it. 

Red. 

My car is red. Where's my car? I want my car. Where's my car. I found my car. 

Soft 

I chew on the hood of my car. It squeaks. I like the squeak. The car is soft. 

Itchy

My legs are itchy. Need Phil. Or Natasha. 

Noisy 

The boards creek when I stand on them. Steve snores. He's noisy. I'm in Steve's room. Why am I in Steve's room? 

Quiet 

The hallway is quiet. Where is everyone? Tony's door is open. His window is to. He's gone. Downstairs? 

Dark

Downstairs is dark. I don't like it. I chew on my car. I find Phil's room. I open it.

Warm 

Phil's room is warm. The heater is on. It hums. I like the noise. Phil is asleep. 

Rough 

The floorboards are rough on my bare feet. I step up to Phil's bed and curl up next to him. Phil doesn't mind. He lets me do it a lot. I like Phil. Phil is nice. 

Quiet 

The room is quiet. Phil's starting to wake up. I head-butt him gently. 

Hurt. 

My legs hurt. My thighs. Something inbetween my legs is wet. My protective underwear. That's what Phil calls it. Bruce says it's a diaper. 

Upset 

Phil won't wake up. He's asleep. I whimper. My legs really hurt. I roll off the bed and stand up. 

Wet. 

My face is wet. My eyes are wet. I'm crying. Phil won't wake up. Natasha. I need Natasha. 

Dark

The hallway was dark and quiet. I don't like it. My belly makes a funny noise. I'm hungry. 

Alone

I'm cold. I'm wet. I'm hungry. I'm in the dark. Everyone's asleep. I cry harder. I don't know what to do.


	9. Chris (Thor) Odinson - Friends

I've always been an early riser. Growing up I had to be. A prince never sleeps in. It's near 5:30 AM when I wake up. My full bladder rousing me from my sleep. When I stand and go into the hallway I hear a quiet noise from downstairs. Curious, I make my way down the stairs. 

A figure is huddled in the hallway. Near the kitchen. It has its back against the wall and as I get closer I notice it's Clint. 

"Hey there," I say quietly. I've never been very good with Clint, I don't think he likes me very much. And I always seem to be overstepping some kind of boundary, doing things he doesn't like. 

I see Clint tense at the words and he shakes his head quickly, making a little noise in the back of his throat. I recognize the noise as an upset noise. 

"It is all okay," I promise, taking a step forward and kneeling beside the scared man. Clint is crying and smells of urine. I want to hug him but I don't know if he likes hugs or not. I wonder if maybe I should get Steve. Clint seems to like Steve. 

Clint doesn't look at me, he has his legs resting on his knees and he's tapping his fingers on the floor. 

"Help him" The voices are talking to me again. "You're useless if you don't help him" I shake my head, I hate the voices, but sometimes I have to listen to them. "Can't you see he's scared? Help him. You're being selfish" 

"No! I'm not selfish! I'm not I'm not!" I yell, shaking my head. 

Clint howls in fear at my words and scrambled backwards, knocking into a table. A picture frame falls and lands on his head. I know it didn't hurt him, but I know it scared him. He jumped to his feet, sobbing now. 

"Hey, Hey now. I'm sorry Clinton. I did not mean to scare you. All is well," I say taking a step forward. 

Clint makes an angry noise in the back of his throat and shakes his head, backing up quickly like a spooked horse. Now I'm getting scared and I wonder if Clint is falling into a meltdown. I haven't witnessed one in a long while but they're very scary and I know I should get Phil. 

"Stay here Clinton. I will go get help," I give him a small sympathetic smile and run down the hall to Phil's room.

I don't knock. Phil said that in emergencies you don't need to knock. I classify this as an emergency. 

"Phil!" I say, louder than I probably have to and shake him awake. 

"I'm up Thor!" He rolls out of bed and is immediately attentive. "What's wrong?" 

I just point into the hallway. "Clinton. He's scared," 

Phil's face turns serious at this and he nods, allowing me to lead him back into the hallway. 

Clint's moved to the living room. He's walking in a tight little circle around the coffee table, making angry noises in the back of his throat and biting his hand. 

"Thor. Thank you for getting me," Phil smiled at me before approaching Clint. I press myself against the far wall, trying to take up the least amount of space possible and I watch. 

"Clint. Hey buddy," Phil says softly as he walks forward. "It's all okay. What's the matter huh? Can you show me?" 

I recognize what Phil's doing. Clint doesn't like to be touched, especially when he's upset like this. So Phil's trying to distract him to get him to calm down and lower his hand. 

Clint shakes his head and growls, walking a little bit faster and his hands moving up to pull his hair. 

Clint must be really worked up. He's doing this because he's overwhelmed. I wonder why he's overwhelmed. 

"Clint. Hey, it's going to be okay. Just listen to my voice big guy. Do you want Steve?" Phil asked gently. 

Clint's getting out of breath but I don't think it's from walking. I think he's frustrated and scared. He shakes his head again, doing it over and over again and turning it into a kind of stim. He makes an angry noise, somewhere between a scream and a growl. 

It's then that I notice the lights are still off. I walk over quietly and flip them on. 

The room is flooded with yellow light and Clint howls. Covering his eyes with his hands and continuing to shake his head.

I duck out of the room now. I rouse Natasha first and then run up to Steve's room once she's headed for the living room. 

"Steven. Hey buddy," I rouse him gently. He grumbles and rolls over with a little yawn. "Your friend needs you big guy. He's scared,"

That seems to rouse him fully. He sits up and whimpers a little. He knows that it means when Clint is scared. He runs downstairs and I follow close behind. 

I realize that Steve and I are dressed only in our boxers, that I still haven't taken care of my heavy bladder, that Clint's getting worse and that Tony is nowhere to be seen. 

Bucky and Bruce have awoken and are sitting on the outside of the living room. They know the same things I do. When Clint's like this, there isn't much there we can do. It breaks my heart. 

Clint's given up his walking now. He's on the floor, his hands over his ears and he's sobbing. 

Steve whimpered. A noise that broke my heart. He stepped forward. 

Phil's kneeling beside Clint and talking quietly to him. Trying to comfort him. 

Steve goes to Clint's other side. 

Clint didn't like that. He began to kick. I don't believe he meant to cause harm, but rather that he was simply scared and didn't like the people all around him. 

"No no Clint. Don't do that," Phil said softly, putting his hands on Clint's legs, keeping them still. 

I wanted to step in and help but I didn't know what I could do. 

Clint arched his back and struggled to free his legs with a very angry noise in the back of his throat. His hands went into his hair, pulling on it hard. 

"Shh Shh Shh, you're okay," Phil said softly. 

Natasha knelt on the floor behind Clint, her hands petting his hair gently, simply trying to calm his meltdown. 

Clint was panting, his eyes shut tight, his back arched. At some point his bladder had released again and his pants were soaked. Clint seemed to be trying to squirm away from his mess.

I could tell Steve wanted to cry, but he didn't. He lay down on the carpet beside Clint and head-butted him gently. 

Clint didn't like the physical contact at all and he tried to kick out again, growling in frustration when he couldn't. 

Steve frowns and wraps an arm around Clint. 

I involuntarily wince, afraid Clint might bite Steve or worse. 

Clint panicked like a spooked horse at the contact and he howls, arching his back and trying to squirm away. 

But Steve held fast, pulling Clint closer to him. 

I watch in awe. If Phil or Natasha had tried anything like that Clint would have panicked and bitten them. But as I watch I see Clint visibly relax. It takes a bit, but eventually he slowly lowers himself back flat on the floor, his eyes slowly closing. His legs relax. 

Steve seems to notice this to because he makes a little, quiet noise in his throat and begins to softly pet Clint's hair. 

10 minutes pass before gentle snores can be heard from Clint. I can't help but smile. Steve and Clint have a kind of friendship others envy. 

Phil smiled warmly and stood up, gently lifting Clint into his arms. Steve stands up when Clint is lifted from his hold. 

"It's okay Steve," Phil whispered gently. "You did a very good job," He gently lay Clint down on the couch and tucked him. 

I smile and pull Steve into a hug. "You're such a good friend Steven," Maybe I can learn things from Steve. Maybe he can teach me, help me be a better person.


	10. Bucky Barnes - Petrichor

Steve sticks to Clint for the rest of the morning. Clint is still asleep come 9:00 AM and Steve is seated in front of the couch. He hasn't moved, he doesn't want to. I've tried offering to play his favorite board game with him and he gave me a shake of his head. I've offered to make him his favorite for breakfast and once again received a head shake. 

I'm in the kitchen, seated at the table and trying to focus on the magazine in front of me but I can't stop looking in the living room. Steve looks so bored. But he also looks worried and scared. 

Every time Clint moves or makes a little noise in his sleep Steve's head lifts up and turns to him. The poor thing is so scared for his friend. It's heartbreaking. 

Everybody's awake and milling around the house. Except for Tony. But Tony's always been an early riser. He's up by 5:00 every morning. He says it's because he had to wake up early every day in the army but part of me doesn't believe him. I know he has nightmares and I also know that he probably wants up and out of his bed as quickly as he can do he doesn't have to worry about those nightmares. So a small part of my brain recognizes somethings wrong when I glance at the clock and realize it's 9:34. 

But I try to ignore it, because if it was something wrong that Phil would notice it to. 

Steve whimpers and I see he's fidgeting. I'm guessing he needs the bathroom but doesn't want to leave Clint. An emotional meltdown like the one this morning leaves Clint exhausted and he'll often sleep for hours afterwards. 

I sigh and go back to my magazine. A gleaming Ford GT shines up at me and I sigh once more, Tony loves cars. Where is Tony? 

I close my magazine and toss it aside. Pushing away from the table and wheeling myself out to the porch. I settle myself into my wheelchair and sigh happily, taking a deep breath. It's quiet outside. 

The house looks over a beautiful field which rolls off into the distance and is draped like a blanket over the valley. 

The grass is long and you can hear crickets and cicadas calling to each other in the early morning. It's quiet out here today and the air is thick with the warm smell of Earth. It rained last night. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The porch steps are wet and smell of damp wood, a steady drip of rain drops fall from the roof of the porch. 

Sometimes the inside and outside of the house seem like two totally different places. 

Inside often consists of two things. 

Laughter or fear. 

Dinners are fun, Steve can make everyone laugh just by being Steve. Chris is funny because some of the stories he comes up with. Dinner is special, it makes me think that maybe we can be that happy family I like to read about so much. 

But then something like this morning happens. 

Clint has a meltdown. Thor panics over the voices in his head. Bruce snaps and yells. We're not perfect. No one is. That's one of the first things I learned growing up. Nobody's perfect, no matter how much money you have, or what car you drive. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Because at the end of the day you're still human, and you still bend and break and snap. 

Inside is a lot like that. I'm reminded that everyone is human. Nobody's perfect. I'm reminded of the fear that all of us face everyday. 

But when I come outside it's like a different place. It's quiet and it seems like maybe. Just maybe, everything can be perfect. Maybe I can be normal. At least for a bit. 

Out here there's nothing but grass and laughter. 

I close my eyes and I can hear the wind muttering as it moves through the grass. 

I can hear the cicadas gentle song. 

I feel I can hear Steve and Clint's happy squeals as they roll through the grass and get covered in hay and dirt. 

There's no fear here.


	11. Bruce Banner - Confrontations

The house was quiet, Clint was still asleep. Steve perched as his lookout. Phil was in his office, Bucky and Chris had both retired to their rooms and Natasha is sitting the dining room table. 

I'm seated in the living room, looking out the big window that overlooked the long rolling field stretching beside out dirt driveway. The field used to house horses and without them it's quickly become overgrown. Before Phil purchased the house 6 horses lived on the ranch, all of them beautiful stallions. I've seen pictures and I realize I miss the animals I've never met. Maybe I'll talk to Phil about adopting a horse. 

The house itself sits up nearly three miles off the main road. It's nuzzled into the corner of a great clearing, surrounded by acres of woods on two of it's sides and bordered by nearly a mile of flat grassland in the front. It's an old ranch-style house, built in 1883 during the nation's period of westward expansion. A couple of months after Phil purchased it he built an expansion to the back of it, adding a rear mud room, an extra bathroom, two extra bedrooms and a rear sun porch. I don't like the new expansion and I'm grateful my bedroom is situated in the older portion of the house. The porch is sagging, the roof leaks, and the aged wooden boards creak in protest. But I like it. It makes the house seem alive, something that's witnessed history.   
The house is quiet and I like it that way. I like it here, though I suppose love is better word. This home is a kind of sanctuary. For people like me, like Steve and Bucky, who have no family to go back to. For people like Tony and Clint, who's families don't want them back. And for people like Chris who don't want to go back. We've all come from somewhere bad and gone someplace worse. And then Phil found us, took us in under his wing and brought us to his little corner of the world. A quiet sanctuary huddled away in the woods and hidden from everything bad. 

My thoughts are disrupted when I hear a quiet rumble in the distance. My first thought is thunder but I know that's not true as there isn't a cloud in the sky. Then I recognize the gentle purr of an engine.   
I sit up and crane my neck as I see something. It's to far away for me to make out what it is but I can tell it's moving up the driveway. It slowly comes into focus. It's a truck, and as it comes closer I realize it's a 96' Silverado. It's got 18 inch tires, much bigger than it needs. It's green and the paint is dusty and peeling in places. 

I wonder what it's doing here, and I'm about to get up and inspect it when it comes to a stop halfway up the driveway. I squint and see two figures sitting in the front, they lean forward and their lips meet in a quick kiss before the passenger door opens and Tony Stark drops out. 

I frown, and I feel the familiar churn in my belly. We aren't allowed to leave the house without permission, and especially not with anyone Phil or Natasha don't know.  

I stand up fast. Tony's broken so many rules. Precious rules we need to make this work. Because without rules their's chaos, Phil and Natasha know this. Rules are important. 

But Tony doesn't care. That's the first rational thought that crosses my mind. Tony's just as selfish as always. He thinks about himself, he doesn't care about us or anything we might want or need. 

I move into the kitchen, knowing the mud room is connected to it. Natasha looks up when I pass but I ignore her. I lean against the kitchen doorway and look at the outside door, waiting for it to open.   
Somebody's whistling and it takes me a while to realize it's Tony. I growl softly under my breath. He really doesn't care.

The whistling fades and I realize Tony's gone around to the back of the house. He's going to wake up Chris and Bucky. I realize I'm getting angry again but I don't care, this isn't irrational anger this time. I have a reason. My footsteps are louder than they need to be as I make my way to the back door, Tony must be coming in this way. 

My attention is captured by the rumble of an engine and I turn to see the truck backing back down the driveway. I wonder who's driving. Does Tony have a girlfriend? Why didn't he tell us? We're his friends aren't we?

I hear movement on the second floor and I think that Tony must have woken Chris after all. Now Chris is going to be angry. It's a bad idea to make Chris angry, I know that from experience. 

The floor boards creak above me as someone moves. I ignore it and focus on the back door. Tony must have made it around back by now but he isn't opening the door. I growl again in frustration.   
"Bruce? Is everything okay?" That's Natasha. She's suddenly behind me. I don't remember hearing her.   
"Tony's home," I snap, sounding angrier than I meant to. She looks surprised at that, though I'm not sure if she's surprised at my anger or that Tony's home. Probably Tony. Everything's always about Tony. 

Someone's coming down the stairs, their footsteps slow and loud. Clint makes a little noise in his sleep and rolls over. It's an unspoken rule to be gentle with Clint the day after he's had a meltdown, everyone just respects that fact. I get even angrier at the thought that however is coming down those stairs doesn't care. 

"Bruce it's okay," Natasha says gently. It's okay to be angry that's what she means, but I realize I don't believe her. It's okay for other people to get angry. Not me. I'm scary when I get mad. 

Tony Stark comes down the stairs. His hair is messy, he's changed his shirt to his sleep shirt and he's rubbing at his eyes. His feet are bare and he's wearing sweatpants. 

"Tony," My voice is low, already heated with the anger churning in my stomach. I take a step forward and glance him over again. When he hopped out of the truck he was wearing the same thing he'd been wearing yesterday. Which means he climbed into his window and changed. He needed his lie to be convincing. 

Tony looks a bit taken aback and he yawns a little. "What?" 

How can he be so relaxed? I don't understand. How can he be so selfish? "Where were you?" I demand, taking a step forward. Natasha's left, going off to help Clint who's woken. Tony's woken Clint. 

"Where was I?" Tony raised an eyebrow. "Umm. In bed?" 

"You Liar! We both know that's not true!" I'm raising my voice now. Steve's made his way across the living room to investigate. He's always so curious. Any other time it would be adorable, but I don't want him in the way now. "Steve. Go into the other room. Please," I'm fighting to keep my voice even and steady, I don't want to scare him. 

Steve makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, an upset noise. But he doesn't move. 

"Steve," I growl, my hands clenching into fists at my side. This isn't good. I know that, I recognize that but part of me doesn't care. Tony standing in front of me is making me to angry to care. 

"Come on Stevie. Lets go see Clint yeah?" Tony puts his hand on his shoulder and starts to lead Steve away, he flashes me a smile over his shoulder and I make a very loud, very loud angry noise in the back of my throat. It's alive, churning in my stomach and crawling to the surface like a wild animal. My anger is physical, Tony knows that, that's why he's getting himself out of there. He's just using Steve as an excuse. He's selfish. I lash out without even thinking about it, my foot connecting with the back of Tony's knee. 

His knees buckle and he falls to the ground with a pained noise. Steve panics and retreats into the other room. Tony whimpered and the noise is so pathetic. I know I should feel bad, should help him up. But he's selfish. That damn word keeps floating around me, it's the first thing I think of when I see Tony. Selfish. 

"What the fuck was that for?!" Tony's on his feet in an instant but I feel a swell of sick, guilty pride when I see he's putting more of his weight on his un-injured leg. 

"Bruce!" Phil's running into the room. "Hey, easy now Bruce, it's okay," He's using the voice he uses to calm Clint. I don't like that voice. It's patronizing and it makes me feel stupid. 

"I'm not stupid!" Bruce snapped. 

"I never said you were. You're very smart Bruce," Phil smiles and I hate it when I feel a little tightness in my chest at the complement. I turn back to Tony. 

"Where were you?!" I ask, ignoring Phil. 

"Bruce, calm down. We'll talk this over okay? Everything will work out," Phil spoke gently. 

"He snuck out! Ran off with a girl! Broke the rules Phil!" I growl at Tony, feeling like a wild animal. 

"And I will deal with all of that accordingly Bruce, but we can't do that angry. We need to calm down first okay?" Phil was using the word 'we' Showing me I wasn't alone, that he was going to stick with me. I feel another pang of anger when I realize it makes me feel a little better. My anger is alive, it feeds off itself. I recognize that I'm angry and I understand it's not good. That fact just makes me even angrier.   
Tony's scrambled against the wall, he's still sitting on the floor. He's breathing heavy and I know he's scared. Good. He's being selfish. 

"Bruce! Stop it!" That's Bucky. I have no idea when he came here, I realize it doesn't matter. 

"Stay out of this. This isn't your business!" I snap, whirling on him. 

"I never said it was," Bucky's voice in frustratingly calm. "I'm not asking Bruce. I just want you to focus okay? You can do it," 

"Stop talking to me like that!" I scream, he's talking to me like I'm a child. Like I'm stupid and helpless. Like I can't take care of. Like I can't live by myself. He's talking to me like I need to be watched over and taken care of in a care home. I scream in frustration. "Just stop talking!" 

"I'm sorry Bruce, I didn't mean to offend you," Bucky doesn't look away, he's infuriatingly calm, his voice steady. 

"Listen to Bucky Bruce. You're okay, everything's okay," Phil said softly. 

"You don't know that!" I yell, my throat feels tight. My anger always ends in tears, it doesn't matter what I was angry about. I hate that, more than anything, but I've never been able to help it. "You don't know!" I repeat. "How can anything be okay when you didn't even know where Tony was?!"   
I sink down to the floor. Why am I angry with Tony? Is it only because he was selfish? Why am I mad at him, his sneaking off did nothing but cause him to be in trouble. He had dug a hole, snuck out and broke the rules, and then he'd returned home and gotten caught and in doing do he'd buried himself. I should be happy to see him punished for it. But instead I'm angry. It takes me a long, long time to realize that I was worried about Tony. I care about him.  Yes, he pisses me off, he makes he angry in a way I can't even comprehend. He's selfish and rude. But he's still Tony. He's still the same person I've known and lived with for years. He's still my roommate, my friend, my brother. 

Suddenly there's two arms wrapped around me, they're warm and strong. I turn my head and see Steve. 

Steve Rogers. A ball of energy, a good person and a strong heart. He's innocent and kind. There isn't much he wants in the world, and he's made it his personal mission to make sure everyone is as happy as they can be. 

His hold is strong, and his body is warm. I find myself leaning against him. He makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, I recognize it as a happy noise, Steve's always loved cuddles. He pulls me closer and lets me rest my head on his chest. I can hear his strong heartbeat. 

He kisses the side of my head. I find myself not minding. 

I tense a little when two more arms wrap around me. When I turn I see Clint. 

Clint's a sweetheart. He has a hard time sometimes, he sees the world differently than everyone else but he manages. And he's got his best friend beside him.   
I wrap my arm around him and pull him closer. I'm wrapped in a warm, strong, happy embrace. I feel the frothing anger in my belly slowly dissipating as I relax in their arms. 

I can smell the gentle scent of hay from Steve, he was playing in the grass this morning I think. I can smell Clint's shampoo from his bath last night. I let myself close my eyes, I listen to their gentle breathing, and their smooth heartbeats. 

I don't know how long we sat there like that, I don't remember when Tony or Bucky walked off into the other room. Eventually my legs fell asleep and I had to gently untangle myself from their embrace. I go into the kitchen and smile when I notice Steve and Clint following me. Any other time I know I'd be annoyed by their persistence but I find myself comforted by it today. They care is all, they just want to make sure I'm okay. 

I pour them both a glass of water and sit at the table with them. 

"Thanks you guys," I say quietly, my own voice sounded warped and far away. 

Clint rests the top of his head on my shoulder and pushes, giving me a makeshift hug with his hands full. 

I chuckle and wrap my arm around him, pulling him closer. "Thanks big guy," I say quietly. 

Steve puts his head on my other shoulder and he nuzzles me gently. 

I smile softly and wrap my other arm around him, pulling him closer as well. I find myself comforted by their warmth and kindness, I feel calmer sitting there with them then I have in a long while.


	12. Steve Rogers - Empty Cans

Clint is picky. I don't know why. He doesn't eat things that I really like. He doesn't want to try them. Sometimes he gets sick if he eats something he doesn't like. I wonder why. Sometimes he finds something he really really likes. Then he wants it all the time. It's funny. I like Clint a lot. He's funny. 

 

Clint likes cookies. He likes them a lot. I like cookies too. I want to make cookies for Clint. Phil's helping Bucky in the shower. Natasha is on the phone. She said it was very, very important. I don't bother her. 

 

I go upstairs to Tony's room. I like Tony. The door is closed. I knock. Tony answers and hugs me tightly. Tony never hugs. I don't care. I like hugs. 

 

Tony smells funny. He smells sour. My dad smelled like that a lot. He was mean when he smelled like that. 

 

I pull away and look at Tony. He has a can in his hand. It's green. I like green. He takes a drink of it and steps aside. He has green cans all over his bedroom. I pick one up. It smells sour. Like Tony. I don't like this. 

 

"Stevie! Hey buddy! What's going on my friend?" Tony's really happy to see me. I smile. But Tony's talking funny. He's hard to understand sometimes. I frown and look at him. 

"What's wrong Stevie? Aren't you happy to see me?" Tony's smiling. But I'm nervous. I don't like this Tony. This Tony is different. I whimper and take a step backwards. Tony's acting funny, he smells bad, he's scaring me. I want Tony back. There's something under my foot. Another green can. I pick it up. It smells really bad. Tony's talking again but I can't understand him. He's talking funny. I take the can and run, going back downstairs

Bucky is out of the shower. He's playing a game on the tv with Chris. They're laughing. They're very loud. I don't like it. 

 

I'm crying. 

 

And Phil is here. When did Phil come? He's hugging me and asking me a question. I whimper and look for Clint. Where's Clint? 

"Steve, hey big guy. It's okay, everything's okay," Phil's rubbing my back. It feels good. I want closer to him. Phil's taking the can out of my hand. I forgot I'm holding it. I let him have it. I don't want it. I don't like it. Those cans make people mean. I don't want Tony to be mean. 

 

"Where did you get this Stevie? Can you show me?" He's talking slowly. But I shake my head. I just want cuddles. I want to stop crying. I want Clint. Where's Clint? I whimper. 

 

"Okay, that's okay. It's okay to be scared Stevie," Phil's rubbing my back again. 

I found Clint. He's walking into the living room with his car in his hand. I walk to him and hug him. He doesn't like hugs and he whimpers. I need a hug right now. I don't know why. Clint hugs back. I begin to cry. I love Clint. He's my brother. I love him. 

Natasha and Phil are talking now. I hear the word beer. They're confused. I keep hugging Clint. Clint doesn't like hugs. Clint's a good hugger. 

Phil throws the can away. I feel happy. It's gone. It can't make people mean anymore. Maybe Tony will be okay now. I hope so


End file.
